A calm lake, perfectly mirroring. Snow-capped mountain, peacefully towering. Overhead was the clear sky with dark fluffy clouds studded with diamonds under poornima night. Settling down on bleacher, I am looking to the moon, with my moon.
I am in the storm And down on my knees. I feel cold And I feel weak. I question myself, Is this the end, should I leave. Then I perceive; NO it's NOT. I am not phenomenally skilled. But I am phenomenally willed. I will not give up. I will not quit.